Helen Fields - Perfect Silence

‘I know you will,’ Overbeck said.

Ava and Callanach walked slowly out of the office without speaking. They were on the stairs down to the next floor when they both stopped at the same time.

‘What just happened?’ Callanach asked.

‘I have no idea,’ Ava said. ‘But honestly, at the moment, I don’t care. We need extra officers working with MIT if we’re going to stand any chance of finding Lorna Shaw in time. I’m sure there’ll be a price to pay later, and I, for one, plan on staying out of Overbeck’s way until she’s back to her normal foul-mouthed self.’

‘Maybe she’s really changed,’ Callanach said.

‘Maybe a prince on a white horse is about to ride through the station, throw me on the back of his trusty steed and whisk me away to a world where birds land on my hand and sing to me, and I never have to see another dead body again,’ Ava said.

‘Ma’am,’ Salter called up the stairs to them. ‘We’ve got another slashing victim in the city centre. Worse than before. The paramedics called us. They’re not sure the victim will make it. The sergeant and I are going straight to the hospital. Everyone else is waiting for you in the briefing room.’

‘All right, Salter,’ Ava called back, raising her eyebrows at Callanach. ‘Then again, maybe not.’

The Meadows recreation area in the city, due west of Arthur’s Seat, provided a vast green space for city dwellers’ use, with long paths to jog or walk, tree cover providing shade for summer picnics and tennis courts for the more adventurous.

‘Were you always told not to walk through the Meadows at night?’ Salter asked Lively as they parked the car and headed for the area where the victim, now lying in a hospital bed, had been found.

‘You’re joking. If I’d been attacked and killed, my parents might have got a few quid from the local rag for the story. They’d have been delighted,’ Lively laughed.

‘Don’t joke about it,’ Salter said. ‘No parent wants to lose a child.’

Lively’s footsteps stalled. ‘Christie, I’m sorry, that was stupid of me, I didn’t mean …’

‘I know you didn’t,’ Salter said. ‘I just think about what happened more when we’re at crime scenes like this. Somehow it seems worse when the victims are homeless or prostitutes. Imagine dying and thinking no one really cares.’

‘That’s what we’re here for,’ Lively said. ‘We pick up the pieces and make sure justice is served, even for people the rest of society has dumped. We’re the last-ditch family, or something like that.’

‘I suppose so.’ Salter smiled. ‘That’s a good way of looking at it. Right. The victim, Paddy Yates, will lose his left eye, the surgeon said. The nerves on the side of his mouth aren’t expected to recover either.’

‘How long until he’ll be out of surgery and able to talk to us?’ Lively asked.

‘Tomorrow lunchtime before they’ll let us in the same room as him,’ Salter said. ‘Not that it’ll do any good. The paramedics I spoke to found an empty Spice packet in Paddy’s pocket. He was completely incomprehensible but still on his feet. It’s amazing how Spice users stay upright with all the crap they’ve got in their systems.’

‘Aye, should call them Weebles, not zombies,’ Lively said. Salted looked at him blankly. ‘Never mind, girl, you’ve to be a certain age to remember that one.’

The tennis courts were a stone’s throw from the children’s play area. Huddled at the base of the climbing equipment was a bundle of cardboard boxes, a shopping trolley, and bin bags overflowing with clothes and tatty old sleeping bags.

‘How’re we doing over here?’ Lively called out cheerily as he approached.

‘Fuckin’ polis,’ was the response.

‘Did any of you happen to witness the incident?’ Lively continued unabashed. ‘Only there’s a man having his face stitched back together as we speak, and he’s not the first. We’d be grateful for any help you can give us.’

‘Like you’ll fuckin’ do anything about it,’ one of them muttered.

‘Got any money?’ another asked.

Salter looked across the park at a nearby row of cafes. Most were closed, but one was catering for the evening student crowd and still serving hot food. ‘Tell you what. See if you can remember anything that might help, and I’ll buy each of you a hot meal, waitress service and all. Your choice of coffee or tea, but no booze.’

A general muttering followed, then one of the huddle of men spoke up.

‘Paddy had taken that zombie shit. He’d been standing up, just staring, away with the fairies for about two hours. Stupid prick. Couldnae even speak his own name by that point.’ The man drew a bottle of unidentified clear liquid from his sleeve and took a long swig. The odour Salter caught from it was more reminiscent of a hardware store than an off-licence. ‘Then he started walking round in circles, all the way round the edge of the playground. Must have done twenty laps. Walked into that bin over there every friggin’ time. Could we have the cash instead of the meal?’

‘No, you cheeky git, you can’t,’ Salter said. ‘Did you actually see Paddy get attacked?’

‘We heard it,’ another of the men said. ‘Sounded like someone had cut his balls off. I never heard a man scream like that in my life, poor bastard. Didn’t make him run or nothing though. He just staggered out from behind those trees looking like someone had run his face through a shredder. I nearly puked.’

‘You must have checked around to see what had happened,’ Salter said. There was a shuffling between the men and a long pause. ‘Come on,’ Salter said. ‘You saw something. Now really isn’t the time to get huffy about sharing information with the police.’

‘Give it to her, Stonk,’ one of the men said, elbowing his companion sharply in the ribs.

‘Fuck’s sake,’ the one known as Stonk replied. ‘Give me a minute.’ He got slowly to his feet and began the painful process of lifting one layer of clothing after another, checking through endless pockets and cursing intermittently when he came up empty. ‘Where did I put the wee bastard?’ he muttered to himself.

‘What exactly is it you’re looking for?’ Salter asked.

‘The key,’ he said, letting the vowel sound extend as he gleefully presented it, dangling from his fingertips.

Salter watched DS Lively drift across the play area to a small copse of trees, where uniformed officers were pointing at something on the ground. His timing wasn’t coincidental. Now that Stonk had actually produced what might prove to be relevant information, Salter would have to take a formal statement from him, and that meant spending at least an hour writing it out, checking it through with him and sitting in the vicinity of fumes that would haunt her clothing until they next made it through the wash. She sighed.

‘All right. Where did you get the key and why is it relevant to the attack on Paddy?’

‘We saw three blokes running away. One of them dropped it,’ Stonk said. ‘I went over to pick it up.’

‘How far away were they from you?’ Salter asked.

‘They were taking off down that path, just to the right of the trees, where your man is now,’ said another, pointing.

Salter stared and tried to estimate the distance. It was at least thirty metres away. ‘Are you telling me you saw an object this small fall from a man’s pocket as he was running in the semi-dark? Forgive me, but that seems unlikely.’ There was a lack of reply and an uncomfortable ducking of Stonk’s head into his multiple hoods. ‘I see,’ Salter said, the picture clearer as she imagined how the scene must have played out. ‘Paddy screams, you all listen to see what’s happening and then you hear the joyful sound of metal falling onto the concrete. How quickly did you manage to get up to see if it was a coin that had been dropped?’